


rétablie

by NotPersephone



Series: Count and Countess Lecter [47]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: BACK ON MY BRAND, F/M, Wedding Rings, happy marrieds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 07:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29996277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: For a prompt: Bedelia loses her wedding ring and Hannibal finds it.
Relationships: Bedelia Du Maurier/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Count and Countess Lecter [47]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/884424
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	rétablie

Her finger feels cold, unexpectedly bare in more than one way. Bedelia’s hand rests on top of the other, trying to diminish the sensation.

And hide her loss.

She knew she should have not taken the ring off. She has never taken it off before.

It is so unlike her, being attached to such traditions, especially given their romantic inclination. The affinity for her wedding ring came as a surprise to her. As came her unwillingness to part with it after her return from Florence. There was nothing else she could have done with it but keep it. After all, it would be a shame to get rid of such an exquisite piece of jewellery, she told herself, knowing perfectly well the root of her decision lay in the depths of her heart and not in the carats of the stone.

It was nothing but a façade, or so she tried to convince herself when he first placed the ring on her finger. She still remembered the strange sensation that bloomed in her heart while the cold metal settled on her skin. Like it had always been there. Hannibal’s lips said nothing but his eyes conveyed an entire oath, a wordless seal to a bond that was there to last.

Upon her return to the States, she removed the ring from her finger, having no more use for the guise. The gesture left her unsettled. Muscle memory, she reasoned, like taking off tight shoes at the end of the day. But the sensation persisted. She caught herself grasping at the finger, searching for something that was no longer there. The irony of the feeling was not lost on her. In the moments of deepest melancholy, under the dark cover of the night, she would put the ring back on her finger, letting the notion of belonging wash over her, keeping a promise she had never voiced but held onto.

Their marriage might not have been real, but the commitment was very much true.

No matter how hard she tried to put the happenings of that year behind, she knew it would always persists as more than just a memory. Like the precious metal of the ring, their bond remained unbroken.

Now, the ring has been sitting comfortably on her finger since they left for Argentina, their vow since renewed with fresh vigour.

Until today.

“We do have a gardener,” Hannibal commented while seeing her put on her outdoor attire, a pair of jeans and a shirt, one she only wore when she was working in the garden, ready to venture out first thing after breakfast.

“I know,” she responded, turning to look at him, “But the roses look ready to be pruned. I want to make sure we do it in time.” She marked her statement with a firm fastening of her hair into a tight knot.

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed in silent dismay at the gesture.

“It is cold,” he tried a different approach, stepping closer to make her fully aware of the warm alternative.

Bedelia’s lips twisted in amusement.

“My jacket provides adequate isolation,” she retorted, “Don’t you want the rose garden to look good? It will be a beautiful view come May.”

“It already is the most spectacular view,” he mused while his arm wrapped around her waist.

Bedelia smirked but let the lush compliment settle in her heart with its familiar warmth.

“It will be even better with flowers in bloom,” she insisted, pressing her hands against his chest.

“Not possible,” he asserted and leaned forward to lightly kiss her temple.

Bedelia smiled; there was no stopping to his incorrigible ways.

“You could help,” she suggested offhandedly, knowing well that dealing with foliage was not something he enjoyed.

“I will help you clean up afterwards,” he assured, letting his hand venture down the curve of her behind.

“Not until I finish,” she stated firmly and Hannibal’s hand moved away, even if with reluctance.

“I should not be delaying you then.”

He stepped away, allowing her to finish dressing, suddenly keen on her progress now that he had a personal gain in mind. The smile did not leave Bedelia’s lips as he insisted on walking her towards the door leading out to the garden and sealed their temporary parting with a soft kiss on her lips.

The sun was already high up when she stepped outside, a chilly but bright day, perfect for her intended endeavour. But once she started, the task proved more straining than she had anticipated and her usual gardening gloves felt inadequate. She managed to find a sturdier pair but the heavy and coarse material snagged against the surface of her ring. Not wanting to damage it in any way, she decided to take it off instead; she wrapped it a soft cloth and placed it carefully on the table in the greenhouse. She was wary to leave it unattended but there was no one else around but her. Freed of her worry, she proceeded with her chore, slowly removing all the damaged and crossing stems.

When she returned to the greenhouse, the cloth was there but ring was gone. Could she mindlessly grasp at it and displace the ring in a process? She had been caught up in the task at hand but that seemed unlikely still. Feeling a sudden rush of dread, she searched the entire greenhouse but to no avail. She spent a good portion of the afternoon scouring the garden ground in all direction.

_It had to be there._

There was no one else present but her, after all. Yet the search proved futile and as the light of day began to vanish and the gloom of a long winter’s night descended, it was almost impossible to see anything among the dark ground and branches.

She finally admitted _temporary_ defeat and returned to the castle, with a deep determination to resume her search first thing in the morning. Luckily, Hannibal was occupying himself elsewhere and did not see her rushed return. She took a hurried shower, one she did not find enjoyable, washing away the dirt but not her guilt. Wrapping the robe around her body, she sat at her vanity and continued to ponder her loss.

“Is everything all right?”

Hannibal’s voice startles her, lost in her deductions; she turns in the chair, hands moving to rest on her lap.

“Yes, of course,” she responds swiftly.

Too swiftly.

Hannibal’s eyes flicker, a minuscule twitch marking his lips. Of course, he knows she is not telling the truth. Another coat of burden settles in her heart, adding to the sensation of guilt; they have promised each other honesty, no matter how trifle the subject might appear.

But this does not feel trivial and Bedelia is too embarrassed to admit to her loss.

“Are you sure?” Hannibal asks tentatively, a dim tint of concern colouring his gaze.

“Yes,” Bedelia responds with firmness, but her voice no longer sounds convincing.

Hannibal’s head tilts in silent contemplation while he walks toward her. Bedelia’s chest feels heavy, unused to being the one under scrutiny.

“Perhaps you are missing something?” he carries on slowly, head tilted still while he awaits her reaction.

Bedelia’s brow furrows in an instant.

_How could he possibly know?_

But it is not the source of his knowledge that concerns her. If he indeed knows she lost her ring, what is the purpose of this vague exchange? A red wave of anger flows to the surface of her mind, overcoming the previous shadows of dismay. She is ready to berate him for toying with her so needlessly, her tongue sharpening with finely pointed words, but before she gets a chance to speak, Hannibal extends his arm and opens his closed hand.

In the middle of his palm rests her wedding ring, the gem instantly catching the light of the side lamp and shining brilliantly. Bedelia’s annoyance gives way to startle; that is the last thing she expected.

“May I?” Hannibal asks when she remains silent, his other hand reaching out in an invitation.

Still stunned, Bedelia merely nods and lets her hand rest in his. Smiling, Hannibal takes the ring in between his fingers and gently slips it on its proper spot. Bedelia feels her skin tingling as he puts the ring back on her finger, and is suddenly transported back to the moment when he placed it there first. She can tell by the shift of light in his eyes that he is thinking about the same moment.

“Right where it belongs,” he remarks, letting his thumb glide over the ring and her finger.

“Where did you find it?” she asks. Her voice is uncertain but her chest feels lighter now that burden has lifted.

She takes the hand back and looks at the ring as the familiar weight settles on her finger instead.

“It was on the ground next to rose bushes,” he explains, “By the Reine Marguerite d'Italie,” he clarifies.

“But I did look there,” Bedelia says, more to herself than Hannibal, still confused by the chance turn of events.

Her gaze remains fixed on her hand and the rightfully returned ring, the stone continuing to catch the light of the lamp. It is hard to miss. Her guilt might be gone but her embarrassment now rises twofold.

“What were you doing there?” she asks instead, further questions clouding her mind, the whole situation being anything but clear.

“I was looking for you,” he explains while his hands move to trail the line of her shoulders with gentle strokes, “I wanted to help you.”

“Help me, really?” her tone sharpens as her eyes narrow in disbelief.

“I missed you,” he responds, head tilting to mark his hours of suffering.

The crease between Bedelia’s brows vanishes; that is more like him.

“But you were not there anymore,” he carries on, the dismay of this further separation reflected in his eyes.

Bedelia nods in acknowledgement; she left rather abruptly, oblivious to anything but her loss.

“We must have gone through different paths,” she concludes, “But that does not explain how you found the ring and I did not.”

“Ones sense can be impaired when under a strain,” he reflects, “I am certain it would still be there, waiting for you to resume the search.”

Bedelia’s mouth twitches; she does not share Hannibal’s certainty.

“The roses would not let their goddess suffer any loss,” he states, arms wrapping around the small of her back.

“Really, Hannibal,” she rebukes but smiles still, “Will you ever grow tired of the elaborate metaphors?”

“No metaphors. I am merely stating the truth,” he says ever so surely, “A brilliant psychiatrist once told me it is better when we are honest with each other.”

Bedelia lets out a quiet chuckle; it is even more like Hannibal to have a moment of inner thoughtfulness when it is least expected. But the recollection of her own words makes her once again self-conscious about the earlier evasion.

“I was embarrassed about losing the ring,” she divulges shyly, feeling her skin burning at the admission of weakness.

Hannibal looks at her with tenderness.

“Well, I did lose mine once, as you recall.”

Bedelia’s eyebrow rises. The moments of self-reflection do not last long with Hannibal.

“The circumstances differ _slightly_ ,” she comments with an amused smile. She is not certain if being arrested and held in a psychiatric institution classifies as “lose”.

Hannibal smiles, seeing the thought reflected in her eyes; he takes her hand, kissing her ring finger.

“Yes, but the outcome was the same. However, it did not matter, because it was always there in my heart,” he asserts.

Bedelia would frown at yet another exaggerated declaration of his affection but her mind remains uneasy.

“But this is more than a simple gold band,” she presses on, knowing well that her ring is the exact replica of his mother’s ring.

“It is still just a trinket, no matter how exquisite. It does not mean anything on its own,” Hannibal responds, taking her palm and pressing it against his chest, just above his heart, “It is the hand that wears it that is important.”

This time Bedelia smiles, appreciating the sentiment. She takes his other hand and entwines his fingers with hers in a tangible reciprocation, grazing the band of his ring with her fingertip.

Yet Hannibal frowns anew, a dismay of unknown source returning to his face.

“What is it?” Bedelia asks, puzzled.

“I thought we had an agreement that I will help you clean up,” he says, looking genuinely hurt by her inconsiderate shower activities.

Bedelia’s mouth presses together as she stifles another chuckle.

“I am certain I will work up a sweat again soon,” she says, head tipping in silent invitation.

Hannibal’s eyes flicker as he pulls her closer, hands already venturing beneath the silk of her robe.

The night descends with full gloom, heavy wind announcing the arrival of a colder spell, winter’s last attempt at keeping its dominion. Listening to the gust, Bedelia snuggles into her favourite spot on Hannibal’s chest, savouring the shared heat of their entwined bodies. She does plan to venture outside again any time soon and she is glad she managed to finish her task before the cold returned. Even if the endeavour brought an unforeseen mishap.

She lifts her hand and glances at the ring anew; even in the unlit room, the gem manages to grasp the slivers of moonlight falling through the windows and reflect them tenfold. Brilliance in the darkness, how very apt. Bedelia smiles to herself. It might be just an expensive ornament but she is happy to have it back on her finger.

“I am glad you recovered the ring,” she murmurs into his skin, letting her fingers trail the line of his jaw.

Hannibal sighs in approval and leans into the caress, resting his cheek against her fingers. He then takes her hand and kisses her palm, his lips feeling even warmer than usual when they press against cold metal of the ring.

“I am glad I recovered you.”

**Author's Note:**

> In my obsession with details, here's a bit of background commentary: the rose Reine Marguerite d'Italie is one of the many rose varieties grown in Boboli Gardens in Florence. It is very rare, its characteristics are a very strong fragrance and a very deep colour. I loved the idea of Hannibal, despite not being into cultivating vegetation himself, obtaining these roses to ensure his wife is surrounded by the most unique specimens (just like herself). And the Florence origin is a nod to their time there, Hannibal's way to celebrate all parts of their story.
> 
> Thank you for reading! It means so much to me. I'd love to know what you thought 🖤


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